


both our eyes locked to the tide

by vaguelyfamiliar



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Boston Bruins, I believe they call that 'angst' around these parts, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, lots of...emotional pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelyfamiliar/pseuds/vaguelyfamiliar
Summary: The water is gentler than Tuukka had thought it would be.





	both our eyes locked to the tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowshus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowshus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fixing A Hole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160198) by [snowshus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowshus/pseuds/snowshus). 



> showshus, my one hope is that you enjoy this as much or nearly as much as I enjoyed your original. It had me crying while wine-tipsy on the bunk bed of an airbnb, which is a situation I hadn't envisioned for myself upon signing up for the exchange, but I'm so glad to have read it and have gotten the opportunity to make this for you.
> 
> Thank you to my beta for giving it a read-through and assuring me that the timeline and sequencing were not _too_ much of a wreck. You're the best! And thank you to the mod for running this exchange, I had an overall stellar experience with it!
> 
> Title from [Anchor by Novo Amor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmKAn8rNbKg), which had me really in my feelings for this fic.

The first game of Round 2 against the Lightning starts out okay. The Bruins are 2 up, Tuukka’s made a few clutch saves already, it’s all good. But then Brayden Point comes to the front of the net looking for a deflection and his stick dislodges Tuukka’s skate blade.

Tuukka raises his glove hand, a signal for the refs to blow down the play. He gets nothing. So he starts yelling, flailing. He gets nothing.

Sergachev takes a shot from the point while Tuukka can’t fucking _move_ , and he gets a puck in the back of the net.

The blare of the goal horn ignites Tuukka like a lit fuse, and he goes off. “Are you fucking kidding me? My fucking blade!” he spews, lodging his complaint with the timbre of a banshee escaped from hell.

An official shakes his head, short and business-like, already drifting away from Tuukka on his skates as a safety precaution, like Tuukka could maim him. He has half a mind to. “Can’t disallow it,” the ref says. “They had possession. Has to be the mask.”

Tuukka picks the blade up, waves it around in the air just in case the refs need an illustration of the fact that it is _not on his foot_. They don’t look convinced. “Oh, _fuck off_ , what am I supposed to do?! No blade, I can’t slide, _fuck off_ with that, _fuck_ you!”

They all just keep shaking their heads. Tuukka flings the blade with all the force of his frustration and it goes skittering across the ice into the boards. That’s a goal he can’t get back that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Tuukka’s had stress dreams about this before. He’s had experiences like this before, goals he couldn’t take back that lost them Cups.

It’s times like these that he thinks of Shawn.

 

\---

 

Here’s an observation about Tuukka Rask from the year 2019:

Most people think of Tuukka and see his anger. They picture him smashing sticks and picking fights and screeching at refs. Hurling milk crates. Throwing skate blades.

Tuukka’s done those things. That’s a part of him. He doesn’t need a _Tuukka Rask Going Crazy!!!_ compilation on YouTube to remind him of each and every one of his tantrums. They don’t even embarrass him that much. He’s emotional out there, he knows that.

But that’s the heart of it, really; he’s emotional. The world doesn’t see that in its more private manifestations. The public doesn’t see him talking to his plants as he waters them and stopping on the street to pet dogs. They don’t know that he finds it so impossible to give up on broken things. Things that other people glance at and turn up their nose, find worthless, find inadequate—Tuukka loves them. Tuukka loves.

 

\---

 

Shawn is watching the series, probably. He watched Round 1. They still talk, kind of.

Shawn would know. He’d never think that anger and passion could keep Tuukka from being kind, having a heart. He was like that himself. So it’s times like this—frothing at the mouth and ready to go berserk to protect their lead in a series that they ultimately won’t win—knowing that the photos people are taking of him right now, crazy-eyed and wielding his detached skate blade like a weapon, will be plastered across the internet for years to come—it’s times like this that he thinks of Shawn, still.

 

*

*

*

 

Once Tuukka and Shawn find the source of the leak in their boat, finishing out the process doesn’t take that long. Fixing up the weak point is laughably easy and short compared to how long it took them just to figure out where the leak had come from, weeks of work dissecting waterlogged sections. All that time spent brushing shoulders with memories Tuukka only otherwise encounters when he’s dreaming and he can’t swat them aside like errant pucks—summer trips in the boat, time spent by the windows, on the deck. On the bed.

Those slices of _Victory_ are in the trash now, and so should be the memories, but there’s no wiping Shawn from his mind completely. Tuukka’s loudest images of Shawn are here in this boat, borne from water instead of ice. Maybe they’re damaged, soaked through like the bedding Tuukka threw out just minutes ago, but they’re still there.

Tuukka feels like he’s spent all this time fixing the boat just trying desperately to glean some hint of whether Shawn keeps those memories in the back of his brain too. Anything that might’ve once sprouted between them was uprooted mid-growth years ago, given no chance to live. Tuukka still thinks about it. Less and less these days, with Shawn almost never in Boston anymore. But sometimes.

“Florida offered me a job,” Shawn says, sipping at the beer bottle in his hand. They’re perched out on the deck, drinking to celebrate fixing a hole, as hollow a victory as Tuukka can think of.

“You gonna take it?” he asks. He might already know the answer just due to the fact that Shawn is mentioning it in the first place. It’s not like they talked much throughout this whole repair process.

“I don’t know, I told them I wanted some time to think.”

Tuukka bites his lip, tries not to ask the question he knows he will anyway. “What about the Bruins?” Shawn could work for his team, _their_ team. He could stay.

But he’s left before, and Tuukka knows he will again. Even though Shawn tells him, “I’ve lived a lot of places. I’ve loved a lot of places, I’m sure I could love Portland, but I never fell in love with a place like I did with Boston. I always thought I’d come back here, you know.”

Tuukka had thought so too. Shawn saying he thought he’d end up in Boston is the closest he’ll ever come to admitting out loud that he’d cared for Tuukka like Tuukka cared for him. They were Boston for each other, in the years they spent there together.

But then the Bruins didn’t re-sign Shawn and he left for Florida. After that, Tuukka had to be fine in Boston without Shawn, without feeling like the two were synonymous with each other. Really, it’d left the tiniest of holes in his stomach, just enough room to bleed through.

Tuukka had hoped, maybe, that the two of them fixing the leak in their boat was the metaphor he wanted it to be. Maybe it was their way of patching up the pain of the _almost_ , the _not quite_ between them. Tuukka had wondered if this was finally the continuation of that kiss, the one Shawn hadn’t pulled away from all those years ago.

But this is an ending instead of a sequel, and you can’t change these narratives, frozen in time exactly the way they happened. You can’t take back a kiss, reciprocated or unreciprocated, you can’t take back two goals in seventeen seconds to lose a Stanley Cup Final, you can’t take back a boat with a hole in it, sinking. There is no ending to these stories other than the one that happened.

It is a metaphor. It just means something else. It just means _goodbye_ instead of _see you tomorrow_.

“I’ll sell you my half of the boat. I mean I’ll give it to you. Take her with you to Portland. You did all this work on her, you should have her. I want you to have her, just let me—”

And then Tuukka ties up the loose ends of the tale, gives Shawn a last kiss there on their patched-up boat. Reciprocated or unreciprocated.

 

\---

 

They’d agreed upon a meeting time to continue work, and the boat’s still residing in its spot at the shipyard garage. Tuukka gets there at 2 p.m. on the dot, not a minute too early or late, yet evidence of Shawn’s presence and work is already littered about the area. Tuukka’s stepping over discarded planks on the garage floor as he moves toward the boat where Shawn’s dragging around more damaged wood. He’s made progress without Tuukka. Lots of progress.

Maybe if he were younger, Tuukka would be upset about that. It’s not what they agreed on. But Shawn always does thankless work automatically, even if nobody asked him to.

This isn’t exactly thankless, tired labor, though. Neither Shawn nor Tuukka had wanted to sell the boat. Tuukka never could have, not when _Victory_ is pretty much all he has left of Shawn these days, a relic from when Shawn was ingrained in every part of his being. Shawn, though—why hadn’t Shawn wanted to get rid of the thing? Why not cut all of his anchors to Boston and ditch when the excuse was right in front of him, bleeding water?

Shawn pops into view again, just above the railing at the front edge of the boat. Tuukka gulps from where he stands fifteen feet away, hands trembling over the loose threads of a bench cushion he found on the floor. “I think the damage goes all the way across,” Shawn says, and then he keeps looking at Tuukka, like Tuukka should have some sort of answer for that.

Tuukka shrugs. They both look away from each other. Shawn keeps working, and Tuukka keeps standing.

 

\---

 

When they start work on the boat, Shawn seems to already have a game plan he’s halfway through putting into action, already unscrewing the table in the main room of the cabin by the time Tuukka’s taken two steps onboard. Tuukka is less well-versed in the mechanics of fixing a hole; he mostly loiters around twiddling his thumbs and hoping Shawn will give him some sort of direction, information, or command. But Shawn is focused on the table, a task that’s probably actually doing something to further their project. Tuukka just wishes he knew what. He’d thought they were supposed to start by dismantling the cabinet.

The table comes unscrewed eventually, and Shawn goes to drag it toward the stairs. Tuukka jumps up to aid him with the other end, hauling it up between them and backing up to the steps.

Shawn’s eyes flick up to his. It feels like the first time they’ve made eye contact that day. “We should switch sides,” he says. “You don’t want to get hurt on the stairs.”

“I think I can handle a few stairs,” Tuukka laughs, wooden and awkward. Helping with the table is the only miniscule action he’s felt natural in taking since he’d shown up, and somehow Shawn thinks even that was wrong?

“Right,” nods Shawn, but as they go up he says, “Careful. Careful, there,” like he can’t help it.

“I won’t break,” Tuukka assures him, and then he takes the last step onto the deck and they finish easing the table through.

Shawn nods. “I know that.” Still, as they toss the tabletop aside and descend the stairs back below, he lifts a hand as if to support Tuukka’s back even though there’s no more table to carry and no more backward steps to take. He drops it before it gets all the way there. “Careful.”

 

\---

 

Tuukka calls Shawn with his heart in his throat, its presence painful like when you swallow food too soon and it doesn’t quite want to go down smooth. Stuck.

Shawn picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, man,” Tuukka says. “It’s Tuukka,” he adds a beat later, unsure if he needs to. It feels uncomfortable to say because it’s something he never would have had to clarify two years ago.

“Oh, Tuukks! Hey, how are ya?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m calling because—I mean, how are you?” Tuukka bites the inside of his own cheek as a punishment. He should’ve planned out this entire conversation before he even picked up the phone. He doesn’t know what would’ve been the right move between cutting straight to the point so Shawn doesn’t think he’s calling just to hear his voice or asking how Shawn’s doing to be polite and sound casual. But getting caught halfway between the two definitely doesn’t make him seem collected.

“I’m fine, doing pretty good,” Shawn says. “What’s up?”

“So, uh. Our boat?” Tuukka starts, like Shawn might not even remember that they co-own a whole 30-foot yacht together. It’s been long enough since they’ve been on it at the same time.

“Mm?” Shawn responds. He sounds focused on something else. It could be any number of things. Tuukka has no idea what the picture of Shawn’s daily life looks like now, so he imagines Shawn emptying out his dishwasher in the mindless, automatic way he always did when Tuukka was around his place. “What about 'er?”

“She’s got a leak. The shipbuilder man says we should get rid of it,” Tuukka tells him, sighing. Getting rid of it is far from what Tuukka wants to do, but he has no way to tell Shawn that without sounding as transparent as he is pathetic.

But then Shawn says, “No, I’m not selling the boat,” and Tuukka perks up a bit. “I’ll fix it, I need a project.”

“Okay,” Tuukka says. He imagines himself and Shawn working on it, spending time in close quarters working toward a mutual goal. “We can do it together,” he says, knowing full well that he’s the only one here who believes that.

 

\---

 

The fucking Tampa Bay Lightning. It’s not their fault, really, even though it hurts when Tuukka lets in that Hedman shot to give them the shootout win. It’s not even Pittsburgh’s fault for winning on the same night and edging the Bruins out of the last playoff spot. Their season had to hobble its way to an end one way or another, and this is only fitting, what with the kind of year it’s been.

They’d played in Sunrise just two days ago, lost that game too. Shawn had skated over to tap his stick against Tuukka’s pads during warmups, something he’s done each time they’ve played each other this year. It made Tuukka want to reach out for him, grab hold and never let go, a child anchored to their parents’ calf. But that feeling only ever lasts a brief moment anymore.

Then Tuukka had gotten on a plane and flown here to fumble their playoff hopes to the Tampa Bay Lightning. Getting back on the plane to get the hell out of dodge is almost cathartic. Tuukka sinks down into a cushy seat and lets out a big breath. Another whole 82 games is in the books. It was a weird season, to say the least. A transition period, Tuukka thinks they call it.

Weird isn’t always all bad. Change isn’t, either. Bergy appears at the armrest of Tuukka’s seat, crouching. He speaks quietly and considerately when he asks, “Card game?” His eyebrows lift and he gives the pack in his hand a shake.

Tuukka hesitates, because his deepest desire in that moment is just to pass out upright in the plane seat and not have to think about hockey or Shawn or loneliness, because he’ll be unconscious. But Bergy’s shoulders drop one sympathetic inch and he asks, “You alright?” all discerning and soft.

Tuukka isn’t yet. But time keeps moving, and different days will have their dawn. He gets up to go play cards. And he cracks a bottle of complimentary wine while he’s at it.

 

\---

 

The water is gentler than Tuukka had thought it would be. Sometimes he wishes their boat was smaller, a little catamaran that would rock with the tide and spit seafoam up onto their bodies when they came down over a swell. But even though their boat is large and steady, Tuukka can still smell the ocean around them from the cockpit as they cruise through the Gulf of Maine.

Shawn is steering, and he keeps smacking Tuukka’s arm and pointing things out on the horizon, on the coastline, in the sea. Tuukka looks at him more than he looks at whatever he’s gesturing toward. Shawn had muscled them into this trip shortly after he’d signed to play with the Panthers next season. Before they could even talk about Shawn’s contract and Shawn’s move and all of the new swords of Damocles that are suddenly hanging over Tuukka’s head, Shawn had told him they were taking the boat up to Maine for the weekend. Then he’d pored over maps, called the marina to arrange dockage space, hauled food and beer onboard, and they were off.

Shawn notices once Tuukka stops being able to pay attention to anything but his face. He gives Tuukka a small smile back, then looks away. His gaze sticks to the water before them. But slowly, slowly, he drops one hand from the wheel and the free palm covers Tuukka’s bare knee. It’s careful yet firm, like he knows what he’s saying and not saying at the same time.

Finally, Shawn looks back over at him, swallows hard at whatever expression is on Tuukka’s face. Tuukka doesn’t know whether he looks sad or in love. He hopes it’s the second one, if this is all they have before Shawn leaves to go south to Florida.

Shawn squeezes his knee. And then he says, “Will you drive ‘er for a minute? I’m gonna go grab a beer,” and disappears to the other side of the boat where the stairs down into the galley area. He’s gone for a lot longer than the few seconds Tuukka knows it takes Shawn to open a beer.

Sometimes he wishes their boat was just a little bit smaller.

When they arrive in the marina and hop onto the dock to get their land legs back, the first thing Shawn does is throw an arm around Tuukka, the crook of his elbow warming the back of Tuukka’s neck better than the sun. “We’re just in time for food,” Shawn says, nodding toward a collection of tents and canopies across the marina lawn. It looks like a farmers’ market, a few afternoon stragglers wandering through it before the vendors get to closing up for the day.

They packed food that they brought with them, so it’s another in a long line of distractions, but Tuukka goes along with it and they stock up on their share of fresh summer fruit. This whole trip is a distraction, but it’s a good one. Tuukka lets Shawn lift a peach to his mouth to bite from and closes his eyes against every other feeling.

 

\---

 

On the bed. Back to the bed, see—

On the bed, Tuukka rolls his head further back into the pillows. His stomach probably doesn’t think the alcohol is a good combination with the light turn of the water beneath the boat, but fuck it. If there were ever a reason to be drunk, Tuukka has one.

Shawn finds him like that. The night is quiet outside as he joins Tuukka there and pulls him into his arms, close. He whispers, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Two goals in seventeen seconds, how was it not my fault?” Seventeen seconds. He’d been seventeen seconds away from the thing they all wanted and won’t get.

Shawn sighs. If he has an answer for that question, he doesn’t share it. He just brushes his fingers over Tuukka’s hair. “I’m sorry, kid, I wanted to win it for you.”

It’s dark in the boat cabin. Tuukka hears Shawn’s phone buzz but doesn’t see it light up, and then Shawn is digging into his pocket for it, halfway to sitting up and away. Tuukka can’t have that. Shawn’s arms are the only thing holding him together, the only other thing he wants so badly.

Tuukka pushes up to follow him and reaches for his face, bringing their mouths together. It’s nothing like the first time he’d tried this, two years ago when they’d been winners instead of losers, and Shawn had pushed him off right away. This time, Shawn dips to meet him, cradles Tuukka’s head to lay him back down on the bed and kiss him carefully, intentionally.

This time, Shawn kisses him back. Only for a moment, only for both the first and last time before he pulls away, but. He kisses Tuukka back.

Shawn retreats in due time. His phone buzzes again and he pulls back from Tuukka to answer it, and when he leaves Tuukka thinks he was probably only a few more seconds away from convincing Shawn to sink into this for good.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I took the concept of a 'remix' very literally and basically just tried to make the same story break your heart in a different order. 
> 
> Also, if anyone's unfamiliar: [Skate blade.](https://youtu.be/jNmSOwEdpus) [Milk crate.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUVGz0MVyKI) [Here](https://www.improper.com/life-style/the-rask-factor/) is a good article on Tuukka about his accomplishments and temper, and it mentions his friendship with Shawn (and their boat, which is real).
> 
> To this day in real life, Shawn Thornton names Tuukka Rask as one of his closest friends (skip to 4 minutes in). Tuukka attends Shawn's annual charity golf tournament nearly every year.


End file.
